Sing for Me
by 3R15UK0UM31
Summary: "I wish you'd sing for me some more Литва." The Singing Revolution is building to its peak. The Baltic states are restless. One of them decides it is time to be heard...Slight RusLiet. Soviet-era fic.


**First shot at a Hetalia Fic. Hopefully it at least hit the edge of the target. :P**

**This is a sort of...prequel/intro/warm-up/test run for another fic I'm plotting out. It will follow in generally the same vein, centered around the Baltic states during the Singing Revolution and the decay of the Soviet Union. **

**...If someone's already done this, I'm sorry, I'm not trying to copy you. You just had a good idea down before I was even dreaming of it. :)  
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**Gloss will be at the bottom. I tried to make it easy to find if you're frantically scrolling. **

**Enjoy.**_  
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_*~*1988*~*_

Unfortunately for the eldest Baltic State, Ivan Braginsky was an early riser.

Which of course meant that Toris had to rise even earlier. Hours before the sun rose over Moscow, he was moving silently through the chilly house, putting everything in order. The fire from the night before had to be rekindled, the old stove had to be coaxed into life, water had to be heated for the tea (many of the states preferred coffee, but it was hard to come by), and enough breakfast had to be prepared to feed four or five nations since Katyusha, his only helper, woke rather late.

Ivan ran on his own highly predictable schedule, following a similar routine day after day after day. The old plumbing would groan as the water ran for his bath, and about half an hour later, he would appear downstairs, casually dressed, hair still partially wet and tousled. The tea had to be ready by then; the blond nation always had a cup before doing anything else. If he was in a particularly good mood, he might smile and stare out the window at the pale line of dawn, and maybe even talk with his subordinate. It was always small talk, and always good news. There was never anything but good news. Although recently that had been changing. Power had changed hands and information was starting to flow not only out but in. And armed with that information, the people were stirring after a long, gray stagnation…

And nowhere had they stirred like they had in Estonia. Eduard had been moved to another room separated from his two brothers shortly after the rise of the popular front. For the first few days, Toris had given himself stomachaches worrying about the middle Baltic, but after a while it became clear that no terrible punishment was going to be inflicted for the uprisings. Toris assumed that his younger sibling had probably been reprimanded in that falsely good humored way that Russia reprimanded everybody. But – or at least many nations hoped – the days when Ivan would carelessly split skin, break bones, leave scars on the nations and their people, were over. And ever since the beginning of Glasnost, rumors had begun to circulate through the big house. Claims that he was weakening began to leak in, and there was an air of cautious hope forming amongst the more restless nations. They could only pray that his iron grip was rusting and crumbling, and that he would soon follow suit.

But today was just like any other day. The Lithuanian SSR rose at what he knew was exactly the same time as the day before, even without a clock to tell him. It was simply a feeling now; he knew when he needed to be awake, and so he was. Not that he had gotten any rest; his body ached and his scars burned with a spreading, smoldering pain. His people were restless and his ears rang with their cries, his mind buzzed with thousands of voices that sang through the night. It had been this way for several months now, and a small rebellious corner of his mind admitted that he was going completely stir-crazy. But he couldn't _do_ anything about it. The demands of his people were really starting to put him in a tough position…He reluctantly dragged himself out of the warm bed he now only shared with Latvia, who was tossing and turning restlessly under the influence of his own citizens. Even as Toris stumbled through the chilly air and into the shower, he was still a little dazed, vivid half-dreams playing out in the corners of his mind. He turned the water on and gasped at the initial shock of frigid water. It was more than enough to drive away the wavering visions of nighttime cathedrals and campfires in the plazas of Vilnius. Yet even as his skin prickled in the cold air, he could hear the music. All kinds of songs, and so many different voices. Everything from "Ave Maria" to the more popular songs of Roko Maršas and even- No, he couldn't think about that one.

He bathed hastily and let the pounding of the water drive away the clear melody that rang so loud in his head that he almost didn't believe only he could hear it. He dressed as quickly as possible in that ugly uniform that, after 48 years of occupation, he had grown quite used to, and hurried to the great room to build up the fire.

Even inside the house, the air felt heavy and wet. Despite the general fickleness of the November weather, Toris was sure it would rain. Better hurry then, and let the fire burn hot; if the rain had time to really sink into the old building, it would be near impossible to warm.

As the ruby embers glowed into life, he allowed himself a few moments to watch the flames rise, going from an almost uncertain dark orange to a crackling yellow so hot that he found himself scooting back a few inches from the hearth. The fire was hungry, and he continuously fed it more wood, watching it build higher and hotter until it spanned the huge, smoke-blackened fireplace and made the big empty room feel almost warm. Again he could almost feel the sun on his shoulders and see his forests, and hear his lifeblood, his people, calling to him-

The fire crackled and rumbled as the supporting logs crumbled into glowing coals. Hot sparks blew out of the hearth. The Lithuanian hissed in surprise and brushed off the few that clung to his clothing, but his chain of thought was effectively interrupted. Probably for the best.

He pulled the screen across the lively flames and, with an obvious effort to keep his mind on his work, walked to the kitchen. Moments later, the kettle was filled and dangling near the flames, and the eldest Baltic had fallen easily into his morning routine.

Dishes were left unwashed from the night before; they had to be cleaned before the table could be set. After that the water would surely be boiling; Ivan would come down for his tea and Toris would move upstairs, making the larger nation's bed and laying out his uniform for later.

And so he began on these chores. The mindless domestic labor was almost nice, and very nearly relaxing in its monotony and familiarity. As he worked he filled the silence with quiet humming, hardly recognizing the tunes themselves, and making up most of them as he went along. They were just there to fill a bit more of the cold predawn silence. Today the music felt especially natural, as if his entire being rejoiced in the sound. Words echoed in his head without his realizing the meaning, and he continued on and on through the same simple, stately melody.

The humming filled his ears and as he went about his work, he even mouthed the words that echoed in his mind. _"Lietuva, Tėvyne mūsų, tu didvyrių žeme…"_

And with the ringing in his ears, he didn't hear the water pipes groan, barely heard the shrill whistle of the kettle. He sang as he took it off its hook, sang as he prepared the tea, and heard nothing but his voice and the voices of his people and the way they echoed in the Spartan surroundings, resonating like a cathedral.

**0*0*0*0**

It was hardly unusual to hear Toris singing, although most of the time he stopped short once Ivan began to run the water for his bath. Little did the small dependent know that most days Ivan was up long before that, listening to the way the warm tenor drifted through the silent halls. He often thought of that story, of the bird in the gilded cage. But this bird was stronger; he refused to be completely broken by something as trivial as a temporary imprisonment. Although bruised and battered, outwardly crushed and thoroughly domesticated, he still sang to himself in hopes that someday he would fly free again.

He just refused to completely give up. And that both elated and utterly frustrated Ivan. While he was rather infuriated with the strength of the Baltic's spirit, he was also quietly proud of his favorite for lasting as long as he had. On top of this, a small timid voice in the back of his head suggested that he didn't really _want_ to clip the bird's wings as he generally thought, but that he would rather see it remain because it wanted to, even when the cage door had swung wide open. A much louder voice clamored for pain and bloodshed, claiming it was the only way to ensure the nation's loyalty. After all, it would be hard for him to run if all his bones were broken.

These thoughts swirled chaotically in the large nation's mind as he listened. The Lithuanian's voice was especially strong and warm today, as if he felt as though the entire world sang with him. And to Ivan's great surprise, the melody carried on after the water began to run. And even after that, as he dressed, he could hear that same somewhat familiar song drifting up the stairs to him, as if it had substance and a will of its own. As he opened the door, the sound hit him in its full clarity, and he heard the words, and suddenly placed the song. Of course.

And again he felt that strange mixture of fury and childlike excitement that by now he was almost used to. He took the steps slowly as usual, but he was holding himself back. Though he was somewhat conflicted about how to feel in response to the smaller nation's defiance, Ivan knew for sure that he was looking forward to whatever would come.

The way the music suddenly choked off as he came into the living room seemed to him, at that moment, to be a perfectly natural ending to the melody. There was almost grace in the way the blood suddenly left the younger nation's face. The Lithuanian's fear was almost as beautiful as his singing, and in many ways, more so.

"Товарищ Литва," Ivan began, usual smile in place. "Доброе утро!" He wasn't sure the smaller state could've gotten any paler, but in fact, he did. "I see you've made the tea as usual."

As the large Russian passed by, he could almost hear his little bird trembling. He didn't look at the other nation as he picked up his cup of tea, but Toris could still hear the smile in his voice. "You're quiet today. You must be tired, да? I keep telling you that there's no need to do all this work. You have many comrades in this house who would be willing to help. I've told you before, Литва – we are all comrades here. Товарищи." The silence swallowed up these superficially kind words and left no trace except an increased tension between the two. As if they were facing away from each other with pistols in their hands, each waiting for the slightest sound, the tiniest movement to give the other away.

Ivan held the warm teacup and was silent for a long moment, staring out the kitchen window, the biggest in the house. The sky outside was dark and wet, swirling with storm clouds. He really did hate the rain…

Finally, those eyes, a purple as chaotic and turbulent as the weather, turned back to stare straight into forest green.

"I wish you'd sing for me some more Литва." He smiled, but it only reached his mouth; his eyes were still dark and promised nothing good. Even his tone had taken on that childish lilt that could only ever bring pain. "What you were singing before – I think I recognized it. Maybe if you sang it again?"

Suddenly, not even the first syllable could make it past the smaller nation's dry throat, even though he could still hear the words buzzing in his mind, endlessly powerful as they sounded around the countryside.

A large, calloused hand reached out to ruffle the Lithuanian's hair. "You should sing louder товарищ. You have a beautiful voice."

He swallowed uneasily and, going against every atom in his body, tried again. "_T-tarybinę Liet… Lietuvą liaudis s-sukūrė…_"

The empty smile momentarily faltered on the Russian's face. "No, no, I don't think that was it…It went more like…" He hummed the melody briefly, perfectly, and the smile came back. "I'm sure you know which one, да? Sing that one."

He was silent. His body ached more than ever, and he felt so tired. His own people seemed to jeer at him for his weakness.

The Russian had moved closer and now loomed dangerously over his subordinate.

"Sing."

It seemed as if every fiber of Toris' being took up the cry. _Sing. Sing with us. _

"Sing, Литва."

_Sing._

"Литва!"

And he found he wanted to.

"_Lietuva, Tėvyne mūsų...__"_ His voice was steady and strong, and he had no trouble looking Ivan in the eye as he sang. Russia was weakening, slipping, and it was time to begin the long climb towards freedom, towards the golden sun and the green forests and towards his _people_. _"__Tu didvyrių žeme, iš praeities Tavo sūnūs te stiprybę semia__."_

And dammit, it was his own anthem! If nothing else, he had a right to his own anthem, his own flag, his own people. Because without those he was nothing, and he'd rather be beaten within an inch of his life every day until the end of the world than continue being something other than himself.

"_Tegu saulė Lietuvoj, tamsumas prašalina!__"_

His voice grew stronger until he was practically throwing the words in the taller man's face, relishing every syllable.

"_Vardan tos, Lietuvos vienybė težydi!__"_

The silence at the end of the song was deafening.

And then Ivan laughed.

His hand came down almost painfully hard on Toris' shoulder, throwing the smaller nation slightly off balance. "If only you sang like that more often, Литва!"

And the Lithuanian's astonishment only grew as chapped lips pressed gently against his hair and said, still smiling, "You should probably start on breakfast now, да?"

And again he was left alone in the kitchen. The sky was a soft dark gray as the first raindrops splattered against the big bay window.

**0*0*0*0**

_November 18, 1988: The traditional Lithuanian anthem and tricolor are legalized, officially replacing the Soviet anthem and flag of the Lithuanian SSR._

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**Although I can kinda pronounce Russian, I do not speak it (Google translate shall do that for me), and I know absolutely nothing of Lithuanian. So, if anyone out there does and might feel like helping me with pronunciations, it would be greatly appreciated. :) **

**Also, despite doing a good chunk of research, there's still a lot I don't know about this period, so if I screwed something up, and it's bugging you, please tell me.**

**GLOSS****:**

***Roko Maršas - **"Rock March"; Lithuanian rock festival featuring popular artists that wrote nationalist music and openly supported Lithuanian independence.

**_*Lietuva, Tėvyne mūsų, tu didvyrių žeme…_Tu didvyrių žeme, iš praeities Tavo sūnūs te stiprybę semia_..._Tegu saulė Lietuvoj, tamsumas prašalina..._Vardan tos, Lietuvos vienybė težydi___** - Chunks of the Lithuanian national anthem.

_***Tarybinę Lietuvą liaudis sukūrė…** - _First few words of the anthem of the Lithuanian SSR.

***Товарищ Литва** (sounds like: tavarish Litva) - Comrade Lithuania

***Товарищи** (sounds like: tavarish-uh) - Plural of tovarishch, comrades.

***Доброе утро** (sounds like: dobroy utrah) - Good morning

***да** (da) - Yes

**Trying to put (hopefully?) a little bit of a different twist on the Soviet story. Don't know if I really succeeded, but I hope you liked it anyways. :) **

**Thanks,  
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**~Erisu Koumei**


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